


You Took Her From Me

by Lilsciencequeen



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crack, Crack and Angst, Dead People, Drunk!Fitz, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Mild Language, Mortuary, Really dark, Temporary Character Death, This gets dark in the middle, Vomiting, but then fluff, it gets happy, kree stone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/pseuds/Lilsciencequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was her birthday, it was supposed to be her birthday. If it hadn't taken her from him. If it hadn't taken her from this world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Took Her From Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [memorizingthedigitsofpi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Carry Okay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4091515) by [memorizingthedigitsofpi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi). 



> +This idea came from KDog, on a train, causing me to forget how to breath due to laughter, this was originally all crack, but then, because its me, angst happened. And Sarah, for agreeing to let me write this.
> 
> +Many thanks to memorizingthedigitsofpi, for allowing me to reference Blackjack (http://archiveofourown.org/series/265150), their amazing series of FitzSimmons getting drunk. The one in question here is from Part Three, Carry Okay (http://archiveofourown.org/works/4091515), which I totally recommend you read, as well as everything else. What's not to love about our drunken babies?! Many thanks for that.

It was her birthday, it was supposed to be her birthday. If it hadn't taken her from him. If it hadn't taken her from this world. She was 28, only a number of days younger than him. And she wasn't her to celebrate it.

She was gone. 

Taken, eaten by the Kree Stone. 

God, he thought. That still sounds ridiculous.

But it didn't take away the pain, that she was gone. No trace left of her. 

The team had decided, after the second month, not to focus as much on her disappearance. They said there were more important things to deal with.

That pained him. They were implying that she wasn't as important. 

She was. 

She was the most important thing to him. The most important thing in his universe, the brightest star.

But the team didn't see that.

So he refused to work.

Refused to help.

He didn't care about the new cloaking technology, or Skye's team of Secret Warriors.

He cared about Jemma Simmons, and getting her home safe.

Coulson, at first, was annoyed when he continued to spend hour after hour, day after day, working on the Stone, muttering to himself, to it. He tried to remove Fitz, covering the door in hazard tape the one night Fitz went back to his bunk, for sleep. Fitz hating leaving her alone in there, but he knew that she would want him to sleep, even if it were only for a few hours.

He woke up the next day to find the door plastered in the bright, yellow tape. Bright, yellow tape he ignored, ripping down and walking straight into the room with the Stone.

Two important things happened that day:

1). Fitz didn't sleep in his room any more, preferring to spend time sleeping in the room.

2). The team gave up, saying they had no leads, that it had been two months, and that they'd work on it in their spare time, but not all the time. An argument had broken out  between Fitz and Coulson. Fitz said that he would only stay in S.H.I.E.L.D. to help rescue her, and, in the unlikely event that something awful had happened, he would quit. He wouldn't work there any more.

Coulson had reluctantly agreed, letting Fitz stay and work, knowing that until she was safe, Fitz would do nothing else. And if she were dead, S.H.I.E.L.D. would have to lose not one, but two of its greatest scientists.

He opened the mini fridge that now stayed in the room. And opened a bottle of wine. One he had been saving for her. Before remembering that she wasn't a massive fan of wine.

He popped the cork, before realising that he had no glasses from which to drink from.

He briefly considered chugging the wine, straight from the bottle. But it was red. And that stained.

He set the bottle down, before leaving the room. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder and muttered that he would be back. That he wasn't leaving her. That he would never leave her.

As he made his way through the base, everyone ignored him. He preferred that. No false sympathy. No one acting like they cared when the really didn't.

As he rummaged through the cupboards looking for a wine glass, Skye leaned back and looked in the doorway at what he was doing. She considered speaking to him, asking him what he was doing. But she decided against it, it was too risky. He had violent mood swings; one minute he could be screaming at people to leave him alone, the next, crying.

And today, of all days would be the worst time to speak to him. Her birthday. 

When he emerged from the cupboard, with not a wine glass, but a pint class, Skye took off towards the gym. Fitz acted like no one else cared about Jemma. But they did. 

They hated that she was gone, but it was hard. They couldn't spend all their time and resources on her. And it pained her that they couldn't. Skye missed her.

***

He sat, cross-legged, in front of the glass case that had become her prison, and poured himself a glass of wine.

"I'm so sophisticated, Jems," he tried to joke, trying to lighten the mood. It worked, slightly. He managed a slight smile. "I'm drinking red wine, and not the cheap stuff, out of a pint class."

He shook his head, and took a large drink. And then another. And then another. "I'm sorry, Jems. It's my fault. You're trapped in there. And I can't save you. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to do it."

He apologised again and again even though there was no one to hear him, and before he knew it, the glass of wine was gone. And he was feeling a little drunk.

"You fucking took her from me!" he screamed at the Stone, standing in front of the glass case. "You took her from me! I loved her and you took her from me!"

He punched the glass, not in an attempt to smash it, he knew that was impossible. But to vent his frustrations. "You took her from me." His voice broke. All he wanted was to have her safe.

"You took her from me."

His head dropped then he had an idea. This was like a, some-what twisted, fairy tale. She, and she would hate him for this, was like the princess who had been captured by the dragon. Except, unlike the conventional fairy tales that every kid grew up with, the Disney films full of happy endings, Jemma Simmons was not a princess who was helpless, she was a princess who could fight, and there was no wicked witch or dragon, just a Stone.

And what saved the princess in every fairy tail?

True Love's Kiss.

He dropped his glass, the shards flying everywhere, skittering across the floor.  

He walked over to the computer, pressing the keys required to unlock the glass case (all the while thinking that this was indeed a bad idea. He worst decisions did usually come when he was drunk, most notably the time he stripped and went night swimming as he called it. Jemma still never let him live that down. And she never would).

There was a hissing as the glass door unlocked, and he staggered over to it, the world starting to spin.

He opened the door, the glass door swinging on its hinges before coming to a rest.

He took a deep breath (something he shouldn't have. He felt like he could throw up), and leaned close to the Stone, placing his lips on it.

It didn't feel like he expected it would. 

He expected it to feel cold, and rock-like. 

But it didn't. It felt warm, and had a fluid consistency to it.

Then he was swept off his feet. 

Literally.

There was a tidal wave of black and he was thrown onto the ground. By the time he realised what had happened, everything had changed. 

Jemma Simmons was lying on the ground.

Fitz crawled over to her. Fitz had never sobered up as quick as he had then.

Jemma Simmons was there, lying on the ground.

But she wasn't breathing.

***

She was pale, far too pale, lying there on that metal tray. Dressed in the white dress her parents had wanted her to be. The white dress she was supposed to wear to a wedding, or to a party, or even to the cinema. Not to a funeral.

Not to her own funeral.

Bobbi couldn't stop the tears that were flowing down her face as she closed the tray, and locked the tray.

She was dead. And there was nothing that could be done about that. 

Jemma Simmons was dead and she wasn't coming back.

***

For the next number of days, until the funeral, Fitz locked himself in her room, and refused to moved for anything, refused to sleep, refused to eat.

The team worried about him, but couldn't bring themselves to do anything. He was in mourning, they all were and the best thing that they could do at this point was to let him grieve. 

Coulson feared for him, knowing that Fitz would leave, just has he promised.

And he knew that Fitz would probably go home. There was nothing for him. But Coulson didn't want Fitz to spend his whole life grieving over a missed opportunity.

But Jemma Simmons was his other half.

Jemma Simmons.

Jemma Simmons who would want Fitz to move on, to be happy.

To live his life. 

He couldn't say this to Fitz, not yet, while it was still painful.

***  
It was today, the funeral.

And Fitz felt ill. He didn't want to bury his best friend, his other half.

The woman he loved.

That every one loved.

She had such a big impact on the people she met, the world.

And the world, and those people were better because of her. 

***

They took her home. The place she loved most in the world.

Fitz saw her parents, took a deep breath and walked over to them. 

Her father, at this point, wasn't crying. Fitz knew that would change later. He was trying to remain strong for his wife. For his family.

"I'm sorry," Fitz said, tears streaming down his face.

Her mother just pulled him into a hug, and whispered into his ear that he could have as much time as he wanted to say his good-byes.

He nodded into her chest and went off to have the hardest farewell of his life. 

***

She looked like Snow White, or Sleeping Beauty lying there. But she wasn't simply asleep.

She was dead.

He walked over, shaking his head as tears leaked out of his blue eyes.

"I'm so so sorry, Jems. This is my fault. This is all my fault. If it hadn't been for me, you would be, you would be..." he couldn't finish.

There was so much to be said, and he said it. It was his last opportunity and he wasn't going to let that go to waste.

"Jems, you completed me. You made me a better person. And its true. Don't you ever deny that. And I'll miss you. I'll really fucking miss you, okay? I'll never forget you, and I love you. More than anyone."

He stroked the lose strands of hair out of her face and knelt down to kiss her, his eyes closed.

He didn't see her eyes flutter open,  just heard her gasping for breath.

He opened his eyes. This couldn't be real. 

Her head titled to the side as best it could (there wasn't much room for movement in a coffin), and opened her mouth, a trickle of black liquid coming out of her mouth.

"Glad that's gone," she said, sitting up. "What's wrong?" she asked once she saw his face.

"You died," was all he could say.

"Oh."

He shook his head as he wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her head in his shoulder.

"Sorry," she murmured, stroking his curls.

He pulled away. "You've no reason to be sorry."

"I left you."

He shook his head. "You died, Jems. There's no reason to be sorry." He wrapped his arms around her again as she stared to cry into his shoulder.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Sometimes real life was like fairy tales; happily ever after did exist and so did True Love's Kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was weird, angst, crack and fluff all rolled into one weird ball of something... I don't know. Why I should be stopped. Probably... I don't know. This was basically the combination of fairy tales, meeting up with friends I've not seen for weeks, and a lot of thinking on car journeys. Basically, the recipe for a fic that contains three of the four main categories. I really hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.  
> Marvel owns all.


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